There Out in the Darkness
by Sir WIlliam Mcnarny
Summary: Enjorales looks over the bodies of his fallen comrades and shares a few memories with himself
1. Default Chapter

Dawn on the Barricades  
  
Note that I do not have any ownership over any of the characters in this story, and that I am nowhere near the quality of Victor Hugo  
  
"It seemed like a shadow of the distant past," said Enjorales to himself as he loaded another packet of shot into his musket. He looked around the barricade, with the illusion that all was peaceful. He then looked upon his friends and how they lay dead around him. He sadly shook his head, remembering the past night.  
"Marius you late again. You look as if you've seen a ghost. Some wine and say what's going on" exclaimed Enjorales inside the café. Marius course blushed and said his words in an eloquent manner. It was then that Grantine took the conversation over by teasing Marius.  
He then looked at the remains of what looked like Grantine, a mere shred of clothing lying in a pool of blood. Enjorales shivered, the cannons had gotten Grantine, and blew him to shreds. Indeed the sight was awful, when you have blood shooting from a good friend. Alas, Enjorales wished Grantine would fare well in the place where people like him go when they die. And then Enjorales thought of the drummer boy. He had fallen so bravely in Enjorales mind. He had fought off the French soldiers until alas he was bayoneted repeatedly He remembered the last words of this young boy, "I would rather be with you than anyone else". Enjorales looked at the pool of red that the boy's body was floating on and sighed.  
Alas he took his musket and slid off the bayonet that he had used to kill many French soldiers. He then took a deep breath and sent the point of the bayonet into his throat.  
It would be a while until the French soldiers recovered the body of Enjorales, lying behind a crate with a bayonet stuck in his throat. And with that ended the first of one but many battles. 


	2. The rally of Marius

An Unexpected Song. Chapter Two  
Please note that I do not own any rights to Les Mis. Also, I would like to thank BellaSpirita for giving me helpful advice in her review. If she is reading this, I note that I am new to fanfiction.net, and this is otherwise accounted for my mistake  
  
An Unexpected Song. Chapter Two  
The church bells of France rang with a melancholy tone, as if to say that all is to remain the same, and that there would be no change in the future. However, a slim glimpse of hop remained. Although Marius was living with Cossete, he also rallied his friends to fight for the fallen Enjolras, and to fight until the last. He himself felt a pang of horrible guilt for surviving the first battle of the revolution. Marius and a few of his friends were hidden in the remains of the ABC café. They had shot at French infantry passing by the café, who in response, were sending a battalion of fifty men strong.  
However, Marius and his men were nowhere near the numbers of the French men, and they knew it. However, there was one last hope for them. I shall explain it like this. What does one do when he is fighting an army that has been proclaimed "invincible"? Marius rallied a few townsfolk, but still the countless French would slaughter them. In a frenzy, he referred to Napoleon's book of strategies, for Napoleon had won against armies much bigger than his own, and had done so by strategy.  
Mind you, strategy is the brain of war, while the men are the heart. Neither can function without the other. However, one can have more brain than heart and still be effective. Such is the way that war works. Napoleon, a man that Marius much admired, had used strategy to the fullest, but it was strategy that brought him to his defeat.  
Marius alas had a plan; he positioned his men in the entrance of the town as a decoy. Meanwhile, he had his best marksmen in homes in the town. And alas, he and his bravest men were in the heart of the city, where the lonely barricade once stood. The one crucial flaw in his plan however, is that his marksmen were not marksmen, but rather men who had used to serve in the French army. Not one of the marksmen could have hit their target with one round, except one. This one marksman was so accurate that he could have hit a rat from where he stood in the house that he was positioned in. By now, you are probably wondering his name. It was Jean Valjean.  
The time was to come where the people of Paris sang with a b eat of the heart, in a tune that sounded as if their would be a new dawn to the day. 


End file.
